


Come December (I Will Be Here)

by coppertears



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Libraries, M/M, Romance, Roommates, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, nonlinear, university!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 15:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7228573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coppertears/pseuds/coppertears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyungsoo reminisces. Jongin seeks warmth. This holiday season, they find a home in each other's arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
**Come December (I Will Be Here) [I/II]**  
Kai/Kyungsoo  
PG-13  
Kyungsoo reminisces; Jongin seeks warmth. This holiday season, they find a home in each other’s arms.

 

Now that Sonyeoncheonji Secret Santa reveals are out, I guess it's finally safe to post this fic here! This was written for the beautiful [](http://fatal-fangirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**fatal_fangirl**](http://fatal-fangirl.livejournal.com/) who also happens to be one of my favorite fic writers. Huge thanks to my long-suffering beta [](http://uponinfinity.livejournal.com/profile)[**uponinfinity**](http://uponinfinity.livejournal.com/) who threatened to lop off my head whenever I accidentally wrote something angsty. Old habits die hard. 

 

On the wall above his bed, there hangs a calendar overflowing with multi-colored check marks. Jongin likes to keep it there as a reminder of how many days he has left until he can go home, crossing off the semester with a black marker that he keeps under his pillow, excitement thrumming in his veins. But now his hands are clenched into fists and his knuckles are streaked with red. With all the things he has to do -- the last-minute group projects, the recital, an outreach he’s volunteered for months ago but forgotten -- it doesn’t look like he’ll be able to drive back home for the holidays.

 

 

He tosses aside the red marker he uses to write down the events he has to attend, and he flops down on his bed with half of his heart crumbling in disappointment. Jongin flips open his phone and stares at the text he’s sent his mother. There’s still no reply, and Jongin wonders what it’s like for his family, preparing for his arrival and then being let down. He rolls over on his side and stares at the wall, mind blank, and he shuts his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, no new message blinks up at him. Jongin sighs.

 

 

He feels the edges of the mattress dip low, and a hand settles on his shoulder. Warmth travels down his arm.

 

 

“Are you okay?” Kyungsoo asks. Jongin sits up and Kyungsoo readjusts his position so that Jongin can lean on him. His fingers card through Jongin’s hair.

 

 

“Mm, not really.” Jongin sighs. He reaches out to tap the calendar, his hand lingering on the box marked _25_. “It doesn’t look like I can go home for the holidays. There’s just too much to do.”

 

 

“Hey, don’t be sad,” Kyungsoo says, patting his head. Jongin looks at him and sees only a fond smile turning up the corners of the older boy’s heart-shaped lips. “It’s not like it’s the end of the world. You can call your family on the day itself and you can still send them presents if you want to, plus you won’t be alone in the dorms.”

 

 

Jongin’s eyes widen in realization. “Oh, you’re not going home, too?”

 

 

“No.” Kyungsoo shakes his head. For a moment, just for a moment, his brown eyes seem duller. Then the spark is back and he’s grinning, and he winds his arm around Jongin’s shoulders. “So don’t feel so down, okay? Even if you’ll be staying in the campus, I’ll be stuck here with you. We can still celebrate together.”

 

 

“Yeah,” Jongin says as a chuckle breaks out of his lips. He lets Kyungsoo tug him and they stumble out of the bed, Kyungsoo’s arm still wrapped around him despite the fact that it’s a bit of a strain to do so. The older guy’s always been smaller than Jongin, always just a few inches shorter, and Jongin can see that he’s tiptoeing a bit. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

 

 

“Come on.” Kyungsoo lets go of Jongin and his hand moves to grab hold of the younger boy’s wrist instead. “I’m hungry and it’s your turn to treat me.”

 

 

Happiness leaks into Jongin’s heart, drop by drop, as he follows his roommate out of their dorm room. He’s still a little crushed that he won’t be able to taste his mother’s cooking or see his dogs, but Kyungsoo’s with him and that thought comforts him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They meet halfway through the first semester, when Kyungsoo is the assistant librarian and Jongin is the freshman kid who builds pillow forts out of Psychology textbooks and sleeps in the corner table. Kyungsoo’s never noticed him the same way he’s never noticed the rest of the student population turning the library into a bedroom, but the moment he discovers that the Psychology shelf is empty, he sets out to find the culprit.

 

 

Jongin doesn’t major in Psychology. He just finds the thick pages of black-and-white text conducive for dreaming, especially since he never quite makes it back to his dorm room before six in the morning. The stars have woken and gone to bed in the same breath, and still Jongin is in the dance studio, sweating out his soul in complicated choreography. He’s studying in this college because of a scholarship he’s earned as a prize in a dance competition on the last year of high school. Jongin can’t slack off, and so he pushes, pushes, pushes -- he pushes until all that is left of the music is a silence that stretches on and on, and his weary body is laid out to rest on the wooden floor.

 

 

He has yet to meet his roommate and open his eyes wide enough to link names to his classmates’ faces, and Jongin thinks he should be bothered by this. But right now he just wants some rest, so he sticks the side of his face against a picture of a man named Sigmund Freud, and he closes his eyes. He’s just about to drift into another world where plates of chicken surround him, when there is someone tapping him on his shoulder. Jongin grunts and a scowl forms on his face.

 

 

“Hey, wake up.” The voice sounds apologetic. Jongin groans but he blinks awake, and he runs a hand through his hair.

 

 

“What is it?” Jongin asks, and it comes out sharper than he thought it would. He winces a bit. There’s a headache swirling on the edges of his consciousness, and his bones are aching, and everything is just a huge blur. He’d stayed up later than usual, having been weighed down by an additional routine. Jongin had slipped into his dorm room sometime past seven, dashing straight into the shower and then into a change of clothing, before rushing to his class like he always does.

 

 

“Sorry.” A short guy with brown hair peeks at him from a space between the stacks of books. “I, um, need to return this to the Psychology shelf. Unless you’re using them for academic purposes.”

 

 

Jongin squints and glares, but mostly he just squints. “I’m using them,” he says and doesn’t miss the way the guy’s eyebrow rises. “I’m studying the effects of sleeping on different kinds of textbooks.”

 

 

The guy clears his throat. “I’m sure it’s for a very noble purpose and it will help solve mankind’s, uh, sleeping problems. But I really do need to return these books to where they belong.”

 

 

“Fine.” Jongin checks his watch. It’s nearly time for his next class, anyway. “I’m about to leave so I don’t need them anymore, anyway.”

 

 

He shrugs on his backpack and stands up, at the same time as the guy dumps a stack of books in the cart that he’s wheeling in front of him. Jongin pauses to watch the guy pick up another stack and then he’s gone, telling himself that he’s going to have to keep switching sections the next time he plans to sleep in the library.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sun brushes shades of wilting pink and bruising purple over the skies, and Jongin and Kyungsoo pause at the bus stop for all of a second. Then Kyungsoo’s raising his eyebrows and walking away, and after a beat that drums in the distance between them, Jongin’s following him. They walk down dusty roads that hold more leaves than people at this hour. Jongin wants to reach out and engulf Kyungsoo’s hand in his, but he hangs back and watches the way that the wind plays with Kyungsoo’s hair. In the last few hours of fading light, Kyungsoo’s brown locks glow bright.

 

 

They end up with knees knocking against each other, in a cramped restaurant with a heater turned up several degrees too high. Jongin tears through his chicken like it’s paper. Kyungsoo eyes him with amusement, taking his own sweet time picking through his food.

 

 

When Jongin leans back in his seat after demolishing three plates of chicken and rice, Kyungsoo swallows and says, “You know, I read something once about telling someone’s personality from their eating habits.”

 

 

Jongin crosses his arms over his chest. “And…?”

 

 

“You finished way before I did.” Kyungsoo waves his fork over the empty dishes. He gives Jongin a look that’s filled with half-concealed amusement and blurry secrets.

 

 

“What does it mean?” Jongin asks, frowning.

 

 

“It means that we’re not in sync,” Kyungsoo says, leaning forward and pointing his fork at Jongin’s chest. “Not on the same page. No consideration was made on your part to finish the same time I do.”

 

 

Jongin can feel the frown digging deeper lines into his face. “What are you talking about? How does eating fast have anything to do with the two of us?”

 

 

Kyungsoo shrugs. “It means that I should stay far away from you,” he explains, eyes round and serious. “That we shouldn’t be together.”

 

 

Beneath the table where Kyungsoo can’t see, Jongin’s hands clench into fists. Something sparks in his chest, an unidentifiable kind of heat that races from valve to valve in the chambers of his heart, and he swallows down indignation. It burns his throat. “You can’t seriously believe that.”

 

 

Kyungsoo holds his gaze and Jongin tries to keep himself steady. “Why not?”

 

 

“Because that’s...it just doesn’t make sense.”

 

 

Kyungsoo blinks at him. Jongin bites his lip.

 

 

“Look, Kyungsoo, just because I eat fast doesn’t mean --”

 

 

And then Kyungsoo’s laughing, head tilted back and throat exposed where the light hits his skin perfectly, shoulders shaking with unrestrained mirth. Jongin stares at him, listening to the way happiness is a waterfall spilling out of Kyungsoo’s lips.

 

 

“What is it?” he asks in a tone that’s close to sounding affronted, but a smile plays softly in the corners of his mouth.

 

 

Kyungsoo chuckles, trying to get himself together. He looks at Jongin with stars embroidered into the depths of his irises, twinkling in a sea of dark brown. “No, it’s just that you were taking it so seriously.” He grins and resumes eating his food.

 

 

“But you were making it sound like --”

 

 

“Relax, Jongin,” Kyungsoo says, reaching out to ruffle Jongin’s hair. “I’m not the kind of person who believes in stuff like that. Although it _is_ true that we’re not really in sync most of the time.”

 

 

“What do you mean?” Jongin asks. He still doesn’t want to let it go. Half of it’s because it keeps Kyungsoo’s attention steady on him alone, and the other half’s because the suggestion that he and Kyungsoo should stay far from each other -- it just bothers him far too much. Jongin’s lived through a quarter of the average lifespan of a human being, and in reality he’s only known Kyungsoo for a little more than a year. Still he can’t quite imagine himself being around anyone else, can’t quite imagine a different face with a different name sitting across from him at this particular moment, in this particular restaurant.

 

 

Kyungsoo raises his eyebrow. His eyes seem to grow bigger in disbelief. “What do you mean, what do _I_ mean? Hell, Jongin, we don’t even bump into each other in the hallways because that’s how different our schedules are!” He puts down his spoon and leans back against his seat. “I wake up at six in the morning while you walk in and sleep during that time.”

 

 

Jongin looks down at his empty plate. He tries to stop the pout forming on his lips but it’s there, anyway, and from the threads of amusement that cross Kyungsoo’s face, he knows it’s noticeable.

 

 

“But you know this already,” Kyungsoo says. “It’s not that big of a deal, Jongin.”

 

 

Jongin doesn’t answer. His fingers dance on the tabletop, moving across the surface as he tries to replicate the routine that he’s just learned.

 

 

“Hey.” Kyungsoo prods him with the salt shaker. “Don’t overthink. It really doesn’t matter if we’re in sync or whatever. I mean, at least it makes for a great laugh.”

 

 

Jongin can feel his bottom lip jut out some more.

 

 

“Jongin, come on, you have to admit it. It’s kind of funny. I mean, we didn’t even know we were roommates until it was halfway through the school year.”

 

 

“More than halfway,” Jongin corrects. “Second semester was ending.”

 

 

Kyungsoo nudges his ankle with his foot. “See?”

 

 

He can feel the corners of his lips curl upwards. Jongin looks up to see Kyungsoo’s heart-shaped smile and the warmth in the older boy’s eyes. “I see.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

It is July when Kyungsoo next sees the boy who’d cleared out the Psychology section and maybe a chunk of Political Science. He sees him because the university is holding its annual festival which is supposedly held to showcase the budding talents within the student population. Kyungsoo’s part of the school choir and they’re booked to perform several times throughout the week, but they do get a lot of free time so they can see what else the festival has to offer.

 

 

He finds himself being dragged by Baekhyun, his usual duet partner in the club, to various stalls. They try out weird concoctions by the Applied Chemistry students, attempt calligraphy at a booth by Chinese Studies majors, and end up in a dimly lit auditorium for a dance battle. There are no cordons or any clear indication of where the main space is for the performance. Baekhyun tells Kyungsoo that it’s because the dancers are free to move wherever. The entire concept is built around how they can showcase their moves and capture the audience’s attention by utilizing the area as much as possible.

 

 

To Kyungsoo, this is the most absurd thing he’s ever heard of. This is the first show he’s been to where he can’t simply find a seat and watch in comfort. It goes against the beliefs he has with regard to live performances in general, and he is understandably nonplussed when Baekhyun settles on some vague spot near the middle.

 

 

“But shouldn’t there be, I don’t know,” Kyungsoo says, looking around with wide eyes, “some kind of spot from which you are almost guaranteed of having an optimal viewing angle?”

 

 

Baekhyun heaves out a sigh and drapes an arm across Kyungsoo’s shoulders. “Kyungsoo, not everything is calculated to the nth degree,” he says. “We’ll experience whatever we can experience when we’re standing here in this spot. Hell, we can keep changing positions if you want to see everything, but then we’ll miss out on some parts.”

 

 

“Doesn’t that go against what a show fundamentally is?” Kyungsoo insists, frowning. “I mean, when you pay to watch it --”

 

 

“See, the thing is,” Baekhyun interrupts, “we didn’t pay to watch this show. It’s free. And, Kyungsoo, the point here is that it’s a _dance battle_. This is a challenge for the performers. Say you have two, three of them at once. The point is that they have to bait you, get your attention, so that you gravitate towards them -- and then they win.”

 

 

That still doesn’t quite sit well with Kyungsoo, though, and he says, “But that’s unfair. I mean, they put in effort, too --”

 

 

“It’s the way it is,” Baekhyun cuts him off, shrugging. “Don’t think about it too much, okay? If you miss out on anything, I’m sure someone will have videos uploaded and whatnot.”

 

 

No sooner do the words leave his mouth when the lights go out. Everyone is plunged into darkness and people yelp, and Kyungsoo doesn’t utter a sound but he thinks he crushes Baekhyun’s palm in his grip. _Well, he only needs his voice for the concert_ , he thinks, but then remembers that Baekhyun is supposed to play the piano for his solo. He lets go and settles for balling his hands into fists.

 

 

“It’s okay,” Baekhyun says, but he sounds a little uncertain.

 

 

There is something rustling beside them and, without thinking, Kyungsoo snatches the hem of Baekhyun’s shirt. Perhaps Baekhyun is too shaky to notice because he doesn’t protest. Footsteps echo and a lone shriek pierces the air. Kyungsoo wonders for a minute if he and Baekhyun had accidentally misread the sign and somehow ended up in some horror room, but he dismisses the thought.

 

 

 _Be rational, Kyungsoo_ , he tells himself. _Even if it is a horror room, you shouldn’t be afraid. The ghosts are fake, the vampires are fake, the --_

 

 

A loud click resounds and Kyungsoo almost jumps out of his skin. He hears Baekhyun whimper a little. Then strong beams of light coming from the ceiling form yellow-orange circles on the wooden floor, and within each one is a person. A faint beat pulses in the background. Kyungsoo feels a little relieved but he’s still tense, still clutching Baekhyun’s shirt like it’s his lifeline, and he catches his breath as the person nearest to them raises his head.

 

 

Kyungsoo’s heart races when he meets the guy’s gaze, but for very different reasons. He recognizes that face, remembers the sharp angles of the jaw and the stubborn pout of the lips and the hooded, sleepy eyes. He swallows down his shock and watches as a smirk pulls up the corners of the guy’s lips. His irises seem like they hold a liquid kind of danger, and even as Kyungsoo watches shadows pool in the dancer’s collarbones, he can hear alarm bells ringing in his head.

 

 

But then the stereos blare out music in earnest and Kyungsoo doesn’t know this song, he doesn’t, but he knows passion when he sees it. He knows when a soul is being wrung out until all of its essence occupies the space, knows when someone has decided to lay their heart in the open where everyone can see it (stab it, break it), knows when emotion is distilled into something physical and within reach. He stands there in awe, mouth open and body frozen. In the periphery of his vision, he can see Baekhyun clapping in delight. There are people hovering close, drawn by the intensity of this boy’s dance, and Kyungsoo can’t blame them.

 

 

The music stops as abruptly as it first came, and Kyungsoo lets out a breath that he doesn’t know he’s been holding. In front of him, the boy bows with a flourish, and when he surfaces his cheeks are red. He’s panting, shoulders slumping forward. It’s curious how his eyes are a little emptier now that he’s not moving.

 

 

“The winner of this round is…” a deep voice bellows out of nowhere and the guy’s head snaps up. His ears are pricked, waiting, and Kyungsoo realizes that the same’s true for him. “Kai!”

 

 

At that, a bright smile edges its way onto the boy’s face and he bounces a bit on the balls of his feet. That’s the last thing Kyungsoo sees before the lights are once again turned off.

 

 

He and Baekhyun stay until the fifth round, transferring from place to place in order to get their fill of the performers. But when they leave, Kyungsoo’s thoughts are heavy with the knowledge that no one else had been as brilliant as that boy, as eye-catching and powerful.

 

 

“How did you find it?” Baekhyun asks once they’re in the dressing room, wrestling with starched cuffs and slim-fitted blazers, fingers stumbling as they knot their ties.

 

 

“It was okay,” Kyungsoo says and, catching Baekhyun’s expression of disbelief, adds, “ _Amazing_ , really.”

 

 

Baekhyun nods. “I really liked the first one, though,” he confides. “I mean, everyone was good, but he was something else.”

 

 

And Kyungsoo feels protective all of a sudden, feels like the boy is his and his alone, but he makes no comment. Instead he says, “Ready?”

 

 

Baekhyun checks his reflection one last time then takes a deep breath. “Ready,” he says.

 

 

They join the line backstage, both hyped up on nerves and the adrenaline rush of singing before a huge crowd. And Kyungsoo knows he is supposed to be repeating the lyrics in his head until it’s impossible for him to make a mistake, but the only thing he’s memorizing right now is the dancer’s name. _Kai_. It sounds like a promise, a freshly-sown warning, a sin. It is toxic on his tongue when he whispers it to himself.

 

 

He hopes he’ll get the chance to meet the boy again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jongin doesn’t know why he’s feeling so nervous. It’s not like he hasn’t done this before -- not like he doesn’t know how to let his body move the way it should, not like he hasn’t been doing this for several years now. Still he stands in the middle of the practice room, body quivering with nerves and head bent. Leaning against the wall-to-wall mirror is Yixing, the TA who’ll be grading Jongin’s choreography and determining if he deserves a spot in the year-end showcase of the best dancers across the nation.

 

 

He tells himself to breathe. Yixing, with his arms crossed over his chest, is anything but intimidating. He’s one of the kindest persons that Jongin’s ever met, and the older guy has only ever been nice and kind and helpful and understanding. If Jongin somehow manages to muck this up -- if he misses a step, a beat -- if his routine is just a tad bit too lackluster and ordinary -- Yixing won’t look down on him. The TA won’t be condescending; it’s just not in his nature. Fear climbs up Jongin’s rib cage and into his heart, anyway.

 

 

“Ready?” Yixing asks in his slightly accented Korean. He holds up the remote for the CD player.

 

 

Jongin adjusts the cap he’s wearing so that the brim paints shadows across the upper half of his face. He nods his head and waits with tense shoulders for the music to play.

 

 

Later, he stares at his reflection, panting and out of breath as the music gets replaced by the sound of Yixing’s enthusiastic clapping. He’s forgotten what just happened, too wrapped up in executing each move that he’s got no time for recording the moment in his head. It’s a common occurrence whenever Jongin performs. Everything becomes a shapeless blur, spinning round and round in his head as he gives everything he has to the choreo, not minding his surroundings anymore. The after-effect is similar to a hangover -- except Jongin isn’t drunk on alcohol, he’s drunk on the pounding of his blood in his ears.

 

 

“I think,” Yixing says, letting his hands fall to his sides, “that you’re going to blow everyone away when you perform that.”

 

 

Jongin shakes his bangs out of his eyes and his shoulders droop. “Are you sure?”

 

 

Yixing smiles, his dimple becoming prominent in the harsh lights. “Of course! You’re in, Jongin, if that weren’t obvious enough already,” he says.

 

 

The dancer lets it sink in for a few minutes, staring at Yixing like the TA’s got horns sprouting out of the top of his head, before a breathless chuckle escapes his lips. “Really?” he asks, almost in disbelief.

 

 

“Really.”

 

 

And Jongin, Jongin breaks out into a run to his dorm room, sweat-soaked shirt clinging for life to his skin, and it’s cold but his happiness is burning in his chest. His duffel bag’s slung over one shoulder as he takes the stairs two at a time, taking off his shoes halfway through the second floor and going up the rest of the way in his socks.

 

 

He’s almost skipping his way to the shower when he crashes straight into Kyungsoo. They lock gazes, and Kyungsoo’s eyes go so, so wide that Jongin thinks he can count how many galaxies come to life in those dark irises, but the moment cracks like glass when Kyungsoo raises his eyebrows and smiles.

 

 

“I see someone’s in a good mood today,” he says, taking stock of Jongin who still has a silly grin cut and pasted onto his full lips.

 

 

“Yeah,” Jongin says, and it hits him hard just how _happy_ he is, how his joints are aching all over but he kind of wants to do a backflip right now. “Hyung, hyung, I got in. _Hyung, I’m going to be part of that special stage I was telling you about._ ”

 

 

Kyungsoo blinks at him. Jongin thinks it’s pretty, but he sort of needs a different reaction from his roommate. It takes the older guy maybe a couple more seconds to process everything that Jongin has said, and when it does, he flings his arms around Jongin and his face is buried in the younger guy’s chest.

 

 

“Congrats!” Kyungsoo’s voice is muffled in the thick padding of Jongin’s jacket. “We should celebrate!”

 

 

Jongin thinks he’s somehow forgotten how to inhale as he looks down at the mop of brown that is Kyungsoo’s hair. His hands drift, hesitant, along the sides of Kyungsoo’s waist before Jongin lets his self-control snap to pieces and returns his roommate’s hug. “Yeah,” he says, and he registers the slight crack in his voice a heartbeat too late. “Yeah, we should.”

 

 

Kyungsoo sinks a little into his jacket before he pulls away with what looks like the sun arcing over his lips. “What do you want to do?” he asks, and he’s _bouncing on his heels_ , and it’s just so adorable. “I could bake a cake --”

 

 

“Kyungsoo-hyung,” Jongin interrupts, his palms a little sweaty. “Will you please watch the showcase?”

 

 

Kyungsoo freezes. “I --”

 

 

“I mean, I’m not forcing you,” Jongin adds in a hurry. “I just -- I just want to invite you if you’re free, I mean, but if you’re not, it’s okay. I understand.”

 

 

“I think I have something to do in the morning,” Kyungsoo says, his smile softer now. “But I’m pretty sure I can make it.”

 

 

“Oh.” Jongin swallows. “Oh, that’s great, then.”

 

 

“Just give me the details, okay?” Kyungsoo reaches up to ruffle Jongin’s hair and Jongin thinks it feels nice. Really, really nice.

 

 

“Okay,” Jongin says, nodding his head, feet now walking toward the bathroom. “Okay, I will.”

 

 

He shuts the door behind him, a joyful buzz coursing through his veins.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When the librarian comes up to Kyungsoo on the Monday after the school festival, asking where all the books in the Anthropology section has gone to, Kyungsoo sits up straight in his chair. He has a sneaking suspicion that he knows who the culprit is, but maybe it’s too much of a coincidence.

 

 

It’s not that much of a coincidence when he stumbles upon the same guy who’d cleared out Psychology sleeping, head buried in his arms, on a table by the right-hand windows. The boy is surrounded by piles and piles of books, and Kyungsoo can’t claim he knows Kai -- knows what the boy does, what course he’s from -- but he’s almost a hundred percent sure that these Anthropology books aren’t being used for references. Not when the person “borrowing” them is off to la-la land.

 

 

He shakes the boy awake and is met by hooded eyes that might burn the world down if they weren’t so unfocused. “What?”

 

 

Kyungsoo notices that his hair’s sticking up every which way but he stifles a laugh. “If you’re not using these books, I’m going to return them to the shelves.”

 

 

Kai frowns, and for a second Kyungsoo thinks he’s going to protest. Instead he just scoffs and stretches, leaning against the chair’s backrest. “Fine,” he grumbles.

 

 

“You should go sleep in your dorm room,” Kyungsoo says, putting the books in his cart. “It would probably be more comfortable and I wouldn’t have to deal with missing stuff all the time.”

 

 

Kai frowns. “It’s too far. I have class in fifteen and the library’s the closest place.”

 

 

Kyungsoo hums. “Your name is Kai, right?” he says. “I saw you dancing at the school festival.”

 

 

The boy blinks at him. And then he’s laughing, chair tipping backwards, and Kyungsoo smacks him on the arm.

 

 

“Stop that!” he hisses. “You need to be quiet in the library!”

 

 

“Sorry, I just…” Kai looks up at him with amused eyes. “I mean, yeah, I guess you can call me Kai. But that’s not really my name, it’s just sort of an alias.”

 

 

Kyungsoo wants a hole to open up beneath his feet right about now. “You’re not Kai?”

 

 

“No, I am Kai. But it’s a stage name. My real name is Jongin.” He holds out a hand to Kyungsoo, a soft smile remaining on his lips.

 

 

“I…” Kyungsoo trails off as he shakes Jongin’s hand. _Jongin,_ he tells himself, trying to adjust. _His real name’s Jongin_. “I’m Kyungsoo.”

 

 

“Nice to meet you, Kyungsoo,” Kai -- _Jongin_ , Kyungsoo reminds himself -- says, nodding his head. “Well, I have to go for class. I’ll try to pick a different section next time.”

 

 

He ambles off, and Kyungsoo is left staring at his retreating back before he slumps down on the table with a groan.

 

 

“Idiot,” he whispers to himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jongin isn’t calm.

 

 

He is horribly aware of this when he takes a peek at the gathering audience, sees the size of it, and his heart somersaults right out of his rib cage and maybe halfway to Jeju Island. He leans his forehead against the wall and sinks to his feet, the routine playing over and over in his head.

 

 

“You can do this, you can do this,” he chants to himself. “It’s just five minutes and 48 seconds, Jongin, _you can do this_.”

 

 

Three minutes later, Jongin almost commits murder and gets himself locked up when a hand touches his shoulder. He springs up, gripping the arm tight, and he almost twists it when he does a double take and realizes that it’s just Luhan, one of the dancers he’s always grouped with.

 

 

Uncertainty crosses the Chinese boy’s dainty features. Jongin loosens his grasp and lets Luhan’s arm go, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. He’s so wound up that his anxious side is beginning to make its violent appearance.

 

 

“Hey, Yixing told us to line up,” Luhan says, recovering from Jongin’s reaction. “What were you doing? Don’t tell me you were thinking of backing out at the last minute.”

 

 

“I’m not,” Jongin protests because, well, he’s not guilty of that. He just kind of wants to disappear from everyone else’s sight forever, which is a very different thing from backing out. “I was just remembering my choreo.”

 

 

Luhan rolls his eyes as he and Jongin join the others. The shorter guy is scheduled to perform just before Jongin, and he turns back so they can continue talking. “You’re going to do really well,” he says, almost dismissively. “Remember that dance battle we had during the festival? Minseokie and I had been dancing for years and we both had huge fanbases, but that stopped no one from noticing just how great you were. Everyone flocked to you.”

 

 

“I,” Jongin starts then stops because he doesn’t know what to say. Luhan is looking up at him with something akin to pride and it makes him feel out of sorts. Because while Jongin loves to dance, loves to bury himself in pops and locks and intricate footwork, loves to let the rhythm skitter on his skin, he still feels inferior. Small. “I’m sorry --”

 

 

Luhan punches him lightly on the shoulder and there is no bitterness, no malice at all in the way his jaw unhinges as he laughs. “Nothing to be sorry about, Jongin,” he says. “You deserve it, anyway, and I feel honored that I get to dance with you.”

 

 

“But don’t you --”

 

 

“I’m not upset about it,” Luhan interjects. “Neither is Minseok. See, the most important thing here is that we get to dance and interpret music in our own style, that’s what matters. People can like it. People can hate it. It makes no difference because we’ll be dancing anyway.”

 

 

Jongin is speechless at that.

 

 

Luhan leans forward to tap Jongin’s chest. “That’s what matters to you, too, right?” he says, his voice softer this time. “That you get to dance and perform on stage. That you get to do what you love and show the world how much you love doing it.” He shrugs. “Sure, we all want recognition, and the industry’s heartless, but we’re all here, we’re all fighting because this is what we do. _This is what we want_.”

 

 

Jongin takes a deep breath and nods. He feels a little better now.

 

 

“And sometimes,” Luhan adds, a knowing smirk turning up the corners of his lips, “there are other things, too. Things we yearn for. Every day we want and want and want, and we are always _wanting_ , but we can never find the courage to reach out and grab the chance.”

 

 

He’s looking somewhere past Jongin’s shoulder. The younger boy turns around and catches sight of Minseok, laughing at something that a young, dark-haired kid -- _Tao_ , Jongin remembers -- had said. He swivels around to face Luhan again and catches the older boy in the middle of parting his lips, as if to say (shout) something, hand lifted so slightly.

 

 

But before either one of them can do anything, Yixing is walking past them, saying, “Everyone, get ready! We’re starting in five minutes!”

 

 

And just like that, butterflies are fluttering once again in Jongin’s stomach. Luhan gives him a reassuring pat on the head before pivoting on his foot so he can face the front.

 

 

It feels like cities have fallen and a new civilization has risen by the time Jongin walks out on stage, the lights turned down low so that only his silhouette is visible. He lets the first few bars wash over him, rocking him gently to a safe place, before he raises his head.

 

 

Kyungsoo is sitting in the middle of the very first row, eyes bright and expectant, and Jongin’s heart stutters. He almost misses his cue but he collects his thoughts just in time, and soon he is executing everything that he’s been practicing. He’s caught up in the song, caught up in heart-shaped smiles and warm hands and wide eyes, caught up in the harsh glare of the spotlight. And he dances, dances and dances until it feels like movements have become a new vernacular, like this is another foreign tongue for the world to learn -- like dancing has become another language for things that one can’t always express.

 

 

When the show’s over and roses are thrown up the stage, Jongin stumbles upon a fidgety Kyungsoo in the dressing room. He watches as the older boy looks around the place in awe, even going over to the table where the make-up products are arrayed, and he’s opening tubes of foundation when Jongin sneaks up behind him.

 

 

“Did you enjoy?”

 

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t shriek but he gives a start, dropping the compact and staring at Jongin’s reflection in the mirror. His mouth forms a tiny _o_ shape.

 

 

Jongin thinks of what Luhan’s said about wanting things but not reaching out for them, and he bites his lip.

 

 

“You did really well,” Kyungsoo says and offers a tentative smile. He turns around to face him and Jongin steps back, just a little, because the proximity is making him burn up inside.

 

 

“Really?” Jongin teases. “You’re just saying that so I won’t leave you to pay the dorm bills on your own.”

 

 

“Hey!” Kyungsoo says, laughing. “I’m complimenting you and you’re being like this. So troublesome.”

 

 

Jongin just shakes his head and pushes away Luhan’s words, tucking them away in a blind corner of his mind so he’ll never think about it again.

 

 

“Go change,” Kyungsoo says, reaching up to ruffle Jongin’s hair. “I’m treating you.”

 

 

Well.

 

 

“As long as you’re paying,” Jongin says, rifling through his backpack for a clean shirt, “then why not?”

 

 

“You only like me because I pay for your food,” Kyungsoo says, pouting.

 

 

“I also like you because you do my Calc homework for me,” Jongin sing-songs.

 

 

Kyungsoo puffs out his cheeks and doesn’t reply, but amusement is hovering over his lips.

 

 

Jongin chuckles. _This_ , he thinks, _is more than enough_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next time Kyungsoo meets Jongin is three weeks after the library incident, when he drops by the university’s convenience store for a few things. Classes have been suspended because of a coming storm, but the campus is relatively safe and Kyungsoo’s not planning on staying out long anyway. He heads straight to the items he needs when he’s arrived at the store.

 

 

“Oh, library guy,” a voice says, and Kyungsoo whips around to see Jongin looking at him, cans of various energy drinks crammed in his arms.

 

 

“I have a name,” Kyungsoo says with a frown.

 

 

“You got my name wrong,” Jongin says with a cheeky grin and that causes Kyungsoo’s frown to deepen even further. “Hold on -- you’re Kyungsoo, right?”

 

 

“And you’re Jongin,” Kyungsoo replies, patting himself mentally on the back for remembering it right this time.

 

 

“Yeah.” Jongin chuckles and shifts his position so that he can hold his things better. “But you can call me Kai --”

 

 

“I’ll call you Jongin,” Kyungsoo cuts in, taking packs of instant noodles from the shelves. “What are those for, anyway?”

 

 

“Dance practice,” Jongin says. “I have them every day until the wee hours of the morning.”

 

 

“Is that why you’re always sleeping at the library?” Kyungsoo glances at him and catches Jongin’s nod. “But classes are suspended today. Do you still have practice?”

 

 

“No,” Jongin says, shaking his head. “I get to sleep in today. It feels like a long, long time since I’ve been able to do that.”

 

 

“I can imagine.”

 

 

They pay for their purchases, and as they step out of the store, Kyungsoo asks, “Where do you live?”

 

 

“The dorm,” Jongin says, tilting his head in the direction of the university’s residential towers. “You?”

 

 

“Same.” Kyungsoo chuckles a little as he adjusts his grip on his plastic bag. “You know, I was supposed to have a roommate, but we’ve never met.”

 

 

“That happens, I guess,” Jongin says, shrugging. “Haven’t met mine, either, but that’s because I’m almost never at the dorm.”

 

 

Kyungsoo hums as they enter the building. He and Jongin head for an empty elevator, and his hand hovers over the keypad. “What floor are you?”

 

 

“Eighth,” Jongin supplies.

 

 

Kyungsoo blinks. “Well, that’s a coincidence,” he murmurs. “Me too.” As he punches in the number _8_ , his senses are tingling. There’s something written between the lines that he knows he’s not getting, something he thinks he should have figured out.

 

 

Once the elevator doors have opened, Kyungsoo and Jongin both turn down the same hallway, and the feeling of something that’s not quite right rises within Kyungsoo. He has a growing suspicion that he knows who Jongin’s roommate is.

 

 

It’s confirmed when he and Jongin stop at the same door and fish out their keys.

 

 

Jongin glances from Kyungsoo to his key to the door. “Oh.”

 

 

“Oh,” Kyungsoo repeats. He watches as Jongin inserts his key and swings the door open. “Wow.”

 

 

“I guess this means you’re my roommate, then?” Jongin says weakly, holding out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

 

 

Kyungsoo eyes his hand. “This is ridiculous.”

 

 

“Yeah, it kinda is,” Jongin says. “I, um, thank you for always cleaning up the living room?”

 

 

Kyungsoo sighs and shakes Jongin’s hand. “It’s pretty easy, especially when your roommate is kind of a ghost and doesn’t come back long enough to make a huge mess.”

 

 

A sheepish grin lights up Jongin’s face. “Sorry about that,” he says, then he waves a hand at their purchases. “Want to put these in the kitchen?”

 

 

“I -- Yeah,” Kyungsoo says. “Yeah.”

 

 

As he watches Jongin stock the refrigerator with energy drinks, Kyungsoo thinks he’s a little bit of an idiot.

 

 

But then again, this _is_ a strange twist of fate.

 

 

 

 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Jongin’s just finishing up dance practice somewhere between six and seven in the morning, when he walks out to blankets of blinding white that makes him smile. And it’s cold right now, it’s several degrees under what he’s able to withstand without a coat on, but Jongin’s laughing and shivering and running the entire way back to the dorm.

 

Kyungsoo’s probably awake at this hour, so Jongin toes off his shoes at the entrance to their suite and skips to the older boy’s room. “Hyung, hyung, it’s _snowing_ \--”

 

He stops himself in time. Kyungsoo is sitting up in bed, face buried in his arms and knees drawn up to his chest, and he’s got a phone pressed against his ear. Jongin can hear him murmuring something to the person on the other end of the line. He swallows and backs out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

 

Jongin is just settling down in a new shirt and pajama bottoms, about to climb into his bed and cocoon himself in the comforter, when Kyungsoo raps thrice on his door and walks in. He has a bright smile on and it almost fools Jongin. But then he sees the red rimming Kyungsoo’s eyes, the way his bottom lip still quivers with something unsaid. And maybe Kyungsoo’s done all he can to remove the signs that he’d been crying, but Jongin can read his features so clearly that he just opens his arms.

 

Kyungsoo looks at him for a moment, not comprehending the action. But then he does, and he’s walking straight into Jongin’s warmth and care and comfort, and Jongin wraps him up in it. Kyungsoo’s face is pressed up against Jongin’s chest so his words come out muffled.

 

“What were you saying when you walked into my room earlier?” Kyungsoo asks, his hands scrabbling to clutch onto the back of Jongin’s shirt.

 

“No, it wasn’t really that important,” Jongin says. “Is something wrong, hyung?”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “What were you saying?” he repeats, his tone more insistent this time.

 

Jongin sighs. “I was just going to tell you that it’s snowing.”

 

Kyungsoo looks up at him then, and his eyes are shining while he’s wearing a smile that’s fraying on the edges, and he says, “Do you want to go out?”

 

Jongin scrunches up his nose. “Break’s just begun. Too many people will be going outside, too. I think I’ll sleep.”

 

“Ah,” Kyungsoo says and he steps back from Jongin’s embrace. “I should go and let you rest.”

 

“It’s okay,” Jongin finds himself saying, sleep the last thing on his mind right now. “You can stay, I’m not that tired.”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “No, I think I should leave.”

 

“Hyung,” Jongin says. He catches Kyungsoo’s wrist as the shorter guy begins to walk away. “Won’t you tell me what happened? Do you have a problem? I might be able to help.”

 

He watches as tension settles on Kyungsoo’s shoulders. “It’s not anything urgent,” he says. “Just me being silly.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

Kyungsoo nods his head. “Yeah. I’m okay, don’t worry. Go to sleep.” He gently dislodges Jongin’s grip on his wrist and walks out of the room.

 

Jongin throws himself on his bed. He doesn’t think that Kyungsoo’s okay, not at all, but if he refuses to tell him anything then Jongin should stop prying. It stings a little bit, because Jongin’s always confided everything in Kyungsoo, but then the older boy’s not obligated to do the same.

 

He rolls over and closes his eyes.

 

 

It’s a Friday night when Jongin comes home earlier than he usually does, and Kyungsoo looks up from the book he’s reading. He takes in the fact that his roommate is actually back while he himself is awake, and it’s one of the few times that this has ever happened, so he drops his book and walks toward Jongin.

 

“Oh, hi, hyung,” Jongin says with a tired smile, his shoulders hunched beneath the thin grey cardigan he’s wearing. The _hyung_ has been tacked on ever since he’d told Kyungsoo that he was a freshman. It doesn’t really matter to Kyungsoo either way, but it matters to Jongin, and it’s not like Kyungsoo minds.

 

“Have you eaten dinner yet?’ Kyungsoo asks, zeroing in on the paleness of Jongin’s lips and the veins in his hands and his lean frame. He knows the younger boy is a dancer and he’s pretty fit, but that’s no explanation for the way his bones seem to strain against his skin.

 

Jongin looks down at his stomach and, almost as if he’s only just realized it, says, “No.”

 

“Okay, put your shoes back on,” Kyungsoo says with a certainty that he doesn’t quite feel. “Let’s go out, I know a place that serves really good chicken.” He runs back for his jacket and wallet, not quite able to shake off Jongin’s surprised gaze.

 

The street lights are just coming to life as they walk down the street running parallel to the university town, an area adjacent to the campus that has a lot of restaurants and shops catering to the college crowd. Kyungsoo ducks inside a small restaurant that’s probably just a little larger than the suite they share at the dorm.

 

They manage to scrounge a table at the back, pushed out of the way by a raucous group of friends nearby. Jongin flips through the menu and begins drumming his fingers on his thigh. Kyungsoo watches him, already knowing what he’s going to order, and he thinks to himself that Jongin looks worn down. The signs are all there, pointing to an exhaustion so deep that it makes Kyungsoo remember the first time he’d found Jongin sleeping in the midst of Psychology textbooks.

 

They’re halfway through the meal when Kyungsoo decides to break the silence. “How long have you been dancing?” he asks, gulping down his water to hide the blush on his cheeks. _Relax_ , he thinks. _Initiating a conversation isn’t that hard._

 

Jongin glances up at him, still chewing as he thinks about it. “More or less ten years,” he says. “I enrolled in ballet and jazz when I was eight. It went uphill from there.”

 

Kyungsoo nods and looks down at his food. He’s not sure what else to say.

 

“How long have you been singing?”

 

The question has him choking on his rice and he almost splatters himself in water when he reaches for his glass. Jongin pushes a wad of napkins toward him, looking concerned.

 

“Sorry,” Kyungsoo stutters when he’s cleaned up the mess he’s made. “I was just...Anyway, I only started in college, really. It was just a casual thing in high school, but then I tried out for the college choir and got in. Maybe two years?”

 

Jongin tilts his head. “You sound like you’ve been singing all your life,” he says, and the sincerity is so clear in his tone that Kyungsoo fidgets with the hem of his shirt.

 

“Well, I’ve been singing a lot since I was a child. It’s just that I was only serious about it recently,” he says. Then, before he can stop himself: “How did you know?”

 

“I saw you sing at the school festival,” Jongin says, shrugging. “Considering that you were the one who ruined my nap at the library, it’s not easy at all to forget you. Plus you had this eyebrow thing going on and sometimes your eyes widened so much.” He forms circles with his forefinger and thumb on both hands, and he peers at Kyungsoo through them. His smile is a strip of white, all teeth and pure happiness. “It’d be thiiiiis big.”

 

Kyungsoo bites his lip. “I didn’t know I was doing that,” he says, feeling self-conscious.

 

“Don’t worry,” Jongin assures him. “It’s cute.”

 

Kyungsoo decides to ask for the bill before he can embarrass himself and return the compliment to Jongin. They both take out their wallets, but Kyungsoo stares down Jongin so hard with an insistent “It’s on me,” that the younger guy backs off.

 

“This was great,” Jongin says as they walk back to the dorm. “We should do this more often.”

 

“You should come back to the room more often,” Kyungsoo says softly. “You always look so tired, it’s not healthy. You should rest.”

 

Jongin licks his lips and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’ll try,” he murmurs, avoiding Kyungsoo’s gaze. “No promises, though.”

 

For now, Kyungsoo supposes he can live with that.

 

 

It’s a little past two in the afternoon when Jongin slips a beanie over Kyungsoo’s dark hair.

 

“What are you doing?” Kyungsoo yelps as he gets wrestled into a puffy windbreaker. His words are soon swallowed down when Jongin winds a woollen scarf around his neck, and he can only follow after the younger boy while tugging on a pair of sensible shoes and gloves.

 

“Hurry, hyung,” Jongin says to him, grabbing his hand. They race down the stairs, a little out of breath by the time they get to the ground floor, but the excitement stretching Jongin’s lips into a smile is enough to stop Kyungsoo from protesting. “I have something to show you.”

 

“Is this just another excuse for a snowball fight?” Kyungsoo asks warily.

 

Jongin just laughs and shakes his head. “No, hyung,” he says. “It’s way, way _better_.”

 

They end up standing beside a rink, Jongin finally letting go of Kyungsoo’s hand. For a moment, they just watch the people gliding around, stumbling and slipping, and performing stunts on the ice. Jongin turns to Kyungsoo, a grin on his face, and says, “I’m going to go buy us skates.”

 

Kyungsoo just nods his head and continues to watch, feeling like a tiny part of his heart is shriveling up inside.

 

When they’ve put on the skates and entered the rink, Jongin skates forward, his chuckles racing along the cold air surrounding them. He pirouettes for a bit and then turns back to Kyungsoo, saying, “Hyung, come on --”

 

Jongin stops. Kyungsoo’s clutching onto the railings, his eyes open wide and his lips parted in a half-grimace. The younger boy curses himself for not checking with Kyungsoo first, for _not noticing_ , and he skates back to him.

 

“Need help?” he asks, resting a hand on Kyungsoo’s shoulder.

 

Kyungsoo looks up at him. “I -- I’m fine,” he mumbles. “Just go on.”

 

“Have you ever skated before, hyung?”

 

Kyungsoo opens his mouth and begins to say, “Ye --” but then he stops and takes a deep breath. His eyes flutter closed. “No,” he whispers. “I don’t know what to do, _it’s so slippery_.”

 

“It’s just ice,” Jongin says, holding back a chuckle because Kyungsoo looks adorable right now. “Come on, I’ll teach you.”

 

“It’s okay,” Kyungsoo says, and he blinks. He looks down at the railing and gives it a tentative pat. “I think I should stay here.”

 

“I’ll teach you.” And Jongin’s pulling Kyungsoo’s hands away from the railing, amidst the shorter boy’s panicked _Jongin, Jongin, really, it’s okay,_ and _Go skate on your own, I’ll be fine_. Jongin ignores the protests and holds Kyungsoo in place. “Hyung, look at me.”

 

Kyungsoo is very fixated on how thin and unstable the ice seems.

 

“Hyung,” Jongin says again. This time, Kyungsoo meets his eyes, and there is fear buried in his irises. “Trust me. I’m not going to let go, okay, I’m not going to let you fall.”

 

Somehow it feels like there is something more beneath those words, but Jongin pushes the thoughts away and concentrates on how Kyungsoo’s legs are shaking. The older boy’s grip on Jongin’s hands tightens.

 

“Promise,” Kyungsoo says, his voice so, so tiny that Jongin almost doesn’t hear it.

 

Jongin nods. “I promise.”

 

Kyungsoo lets out a sigh and he hunches his shoulders. “Okay, teach me.”

 

The next half hour passes with Jongin coaxing Kyungsoo into at least lifting his feet, then tugging him along in a reverse train position so that Jongin can keep an eye on him. They glide like that, back and forth and all around the rink, until Jongin feels that Kyungsoo’s more confident in his skating. He’s just about to pry away the older boy’s grip when he’s given a vicious glare.

 

“You _promised_ ,” Kyungsoo hisses. Jongin gulps and doesn’t loosen his hold ever again.

 

When they’ve covered the entire rink at least three times, Jongin decides to take a risk. “Um, do you want to try this on your own?” It’s not really because Jongin’s tired of Kyungsoo or anything, or that he wants to go off by himself. It’s just that Jongin is of a very strong but suppressed opinion that one must be left alone to try out things so they can continue to do it.

 

Kyungsoo narrows his eyes at him. “No,” he says, and Jongin sighs.

 

“But you’re never going to be confident enough if it’s like this,” Jongin reasons. “Come on, hyung, just try.”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “I don’t want to.”

 

“But what if I’m not around? What happens then?” Jongin asks.

 

“Then I won’t go.”

 

The firmness of Kyungsoo’s answers has Jongin blinking in surprise. “Hyung.”

 

“Jongin.”

 

“Really, hyung,” Jongin says, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. He feels a bit frustrated -- and maybe, maybe more than a little flustered, because the fact that Kyungsoo refuses to skate when he’s not there nags at him more than it should. It settles in his stomach, erupting into an ugly riot of birds and bees and butterflies. It’s like his feelings form a single, tangled knot.

 

Kyungsoo just gives him a look. Jongin can’t decipher it, can’t read between the lines and figure out what he’s trying to say. He’s too distracted by how Kyungsoo’s eyelashes flutter when he blinks.

 

“Just a bit,” Jongin says, trying to be as soothing as possible. “I’ll be right here --”

 

“You promised you’d never let me go.”

 

Jongin stops. He stares at the top of Kyungsoo’s head, at a loss for words. Kyungsoo refuses to meet his gaze, his fingers digging crescents down Jongin’s wrists, and he’s focusing on his worn-out skates.

 

Jongin swallows down any comeback he might have had then and there. “I -- yeah,” he says. “Yeah. I’m never going to let go.”

 

Kyungsoo lifts up his head. “I don’t want to do this by myself.”

 

Jongin nods once, twice. “Yeah. Okay. I’m not going to force you.”

 

And it seems fine from there, as if everything is back to normal. But the whole way home, even though Kyungsoo chatters his ears off about this and that and _Jongin, Jongin what was that girl doing earlier, the one who lifted her leg and spun in a circle?_ \-- even though they exchange huffs and puffs of stories in the frigid air -- even though Jongin should really, really just let it go, he can’t help it. He can’t help but think about how much trust Kyungsoo places in him, how much the latter wants him to _stay_.

 

He can’t help but think that his promise seems to mean something more than just making sure Kyungsoo doesn’t land, butt first, on the slippery ice.

 

 

 

Kyungsoo finds out that Jongin is best friends with Sehun, who clings to Junmyeon like a permanent accessory that changes hair color from time to time. He finds out that Junmyeon is the “manager” of a band that Chanyeol is the guitarist of, and he finds out that Chanyeol is the same guy Baekhyun’s been admiring from a distance for several years.

 

He finds out all of this because he gets dragged backstage after a rock festival that Chanyeol’s band performs in, and he’s helpless because Kyungsoo considers Baekhyun his closest friend in uni. They get drowned in a sea of people heading out of the grounds. It takes a lot of maneuvering on Baekhyun’s part so they can get to the tents, and when they do, they’re hit by the scent of sweat, perfume, leather and make-up.

 

“Are you sure it’s okay for us to be here?” Kyungsoo asks, trying to make himself as small as possible. It’s kind of pointless because most of the people passing by them are taller than he is and he wonders why he even tries.

 

“Ssh,” Baekhyun says, a finger to his lips. “Of course it is. You know Junmyeon-hyung, right? You’ve probably seen him around in choir and I’m friends with him. He’s the manager of Chanyeol’s band. Anyway, he told me to meet him here so that I can get the music sheets from him.”

 

“Why do they even need a manager? They’re a college band, it’s not like they already have a recording deal.”

 

“This is how things work, Kyungsoo,” Baekhyun explains. “See, they need someone to arrange gigs for them and Junmyeon-hyung has a lot of connections.”

 

They find Junmyeon standing in a corner of the tent and Baekhyun strides toward him, tugging Kyungsoo along with him. “Junmy --”

 

He stops in his tracks and Kyungsoo collides into his shoulder. It takes him a few seconds to gather his bearings and peer around Baekhyun, who is just about frozen by now. There, clustered in front of Junmyeon, are three guys, two of whom Kyungsoo recognizes: Chanyeol, the guitarist that’s the sole reason why Baekhyun and he are here tonight; a lanky, blonde-haired guy with depthless eyes; and Jongin.

 

“I…” Baekhyun opens and closes his mouth, trying to figure out what to say. “I -- Sorry for interrupting, we’ll just --”

 

“Kyungsoo-hyung,” Jongin says, and the syllables roll off of his tongue so slowly that Kyungsoo fidgets. He feels Baekhyun stiffen in surprise, and then he’s turning around to flash Kyungsoo a look.

 

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo says, lifting his hand in a pathetic wave. “I. Hi. Nice to see you here.”

 

Baekhyun can’t quite seem to decide which one to focus on, glancing from Kyungsoo to Jongin and back again.

 

“Okay,” Junmyeon says and he claps his hands, breaking up the awkward silence. “So. Uh, Baekhyun and Kyungsoo, these are Jongin, Sehun and Chanyeol. Jongin, Sehun and Chanyeol, these are Baekhyun and Kyungsoo.”

 

“I know,” Jongin pipes up, sounding a little annoyed. “Didn’t you hear me greet Kyungsoo-hyung?”

 

Sehun seems to come to life at that. He takes a few steps forward and appraises Kyungsoo from head to toe. “Huh. You’re just as small as Jongin says.”

 

“ _Sehun_ ,” Jongin hisses.

 

Sehun shrugs. “Cute,” he murmurs. “No wonder Jongin talks about you s--” He’s cut off by Jongin slapping a hand over his mouth and pulling him away. Sehun raises his eyebrows. Jongin just gives him a pointed look.

 

Kyungsoo clutches the hem of Baekhyun’s shirt and the older boy shoots him a glance filled with concern. “I, uh, it seems you’re busy doing something so, uh, Junmyeon-hyung, I’ll just get the --”

 

“How about let’s all eat dinner together?” Junmyeon suggests. “These three kids haven’t eaten yet.”

 

Kyungsoo catches the brief shift in Baekhyun’s stance as he glances at Chanyeol then back to Junmyeon. “I guess it’s okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo says, finding his voice at last. “It is.”

 

As they start walking to the nearest restaurant, Sehun drifts to Junmyeon and Kyungsoo finds himself beside Jongin. Baekhyun has somehow ended up near Chanyeol, and Kyungsoo notices that they already seem to be engaged in a conversation.

 

“Hey, don’t mind what Sehun said,” Jongin tells him. “He’s an ass.”

 

“It’s okay,” Kyungsoo says. “It’s not...I mean, I was kind of surprised but it doesn’t really matter.”

 

Jongin heaves out a relieved breath. “Then we’re good?”

 

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo says, “We’re good.”

 

“Sorry, it’s just that he likes to throw me under the bus a lot and, well.” Jongin chuckles. “He’s my best friend, it’s kind of hard to get mad at him.”

 

“Does he dance, too?” Kyungsoo asks.

 

“He used to,” Jongin says. “But his parents wanted a more respectable career for him and Sehun’s a brat but he’s not disobedient. So he stopped.”

 

Kyungsoo considers this, turning it over and over in his mind. He can’t imagine himself abandoning singing just like that. “That’s sad.”

 

“He’s still young,” Jongin says. “We all are. Sehun will pick up dancing again when he can’t resist it anymore, I’m sure of it.”

 

“And you?” Kyungsoo asks. He sees the confusion in Jongin’s eyes so he clarifies: “What would you do if your parents told you to stop?”

 

“Keep dancing, of course,” Jongin says, like it’s the most obvious answer. Maybe it is. “I love it too much to give it up. I’m sure the same is true for you when it comes to singing.”

 

Kyungsoo hums a little to himself.

 

And it’s a start, really -- this steady walk beside Jongin is a beginning. This conversation tells him, _Go_. He knows Jongin is his roommate but this is different, this is Jongin sharing things about himself and Kyungsoo likes it, likes keeping these bits and pieces of Jongin close to his chest.

 

He wonders what the burning feeling is, but then he realizes that he’s _happy_ because he’s one step closer to knowing Kim Jongin, the boy who dances with so much passion in the dark.

 

 

Sixteen days before Christmas, Jongin stands in the middle of the gift-searching rush. He looks at all of the shops looming before him, not knowing where to start, and he gets the urge to just turn tail and return to the dorm. But he knows that waiting until the last minute will end up with him not getting anything at all, and so he marshals himself and tries to figure out what Kyungsoo might like.

 

In retrospect, Jongin thinks he should have probably tried to ask Kyungsoo for his wish list because of scientific reasons. Except Jongin doesn’t even think subtlety is a word and he believes in being too frank, and he’d only have given himself away.

 

It’s hard to figure out what to buy for someone you want to impress. Jongin rifles through coats and sweaters and vests and pants. He contemplates buying cookies then decides against it, because Kyungsoo can bake anyway. He ends up in the household supplies section of the department store and is about to pick up novelty salt and pepper shakers, maybe a couple of tupperwares and pans, but he remembers how much Kyungsoo likes using kitchen utensils as weapons. He puts all of them back.

 

He decides to settle on a scarf -- it’s warm, generic and soft, and Kyungsoo looks adorable when the long piece of cloth is wrapped around his neck. Jongin wanders through the aisles, trying to choose between red and blue.

 

“The blue one looks nicer.”

 

He almost jumps straight up to Mars at the sound and he whips around, mortified, to see Kyungsoo blinking up at him with amusement.

 

“What are you doing here?” Jongin stutters out, shoving the scarves back to their respective racks.

 

“Picking up stuff,” Kyungsoo says. “I saw you when I was passing by. Aren’t you going to buy those?”

 

“I changed my mind,” Jongin says in a hurry.

 

“Well.” Kyungsoo smiles. “If that’s the case, would you like to accompany me? I’m trying to choose a Christmas tree for our dorm room, even just a small one.”

 

Jongin chuckles. “It’s not like we can fit a huge one in there, it will take us too long to assemble.”

 

They get caught up in a swirl of decorations and feather boas and angel figurines, Jongin almost unable to say no when Kyungsoo’s eyes sparkle as he convinces him that everything in red glitter looks pretty. His only saving grace is the fact that the salesman comes along and bargains with them, gaining Kyungsoo’s attention, which is enough time for Jongin to regain his wits.

 

“Let’s not get those, hyung,” Jongin says, trying not to bite back his words when Kyungsoo _pouts_. “I mean, glitter is messy. It’ll be hard to clean up.”

 

He pats himself on the back when Kyungsoo puts the red glitter away. But then the older guy tugs out a box of bright yellow glass balls, and Jongin sighs.

 

“We should probably look at the decorations later,” Jongin says. “We haven’t even chosen a tree yet.”

 

Kyungsoo blinks. “Oh. Oh, right.”

 

After half an hour of bickering over what height the tree should be -- “Hyung, no, it won’t fit through the door” -- and what color -- “Yes, yes, I know it’s rainbow-colored and it’s the only one but _please_ , hyung, let’s just have an ordinary green one” -- they’re finally paying for the purchases. Jongin huffs. He’d won the battle over everything except the cookie coasters and spray cans of fake snow, but he figures he’s done a good job.

 

“Thanks for helping me out, Jongin,” Kyungsoo says, rocking a little on the balls of his feet in half-veiled excitement.

 

“No problem.” Jongin looks around the store. Now that they’ve bought the decorations, he wants to run back and buy a scarf for Kyungsoo. _The blue one looks nicer_ , he recalls Kyungsoo saying. “Are you going to do anything after this?”

 

“Mmm, I don’t have anything else left to do,” Kyungsoo says, bending down to pick up the shopping bags. “We should go home together.”

 

“I -- I have something I need to buy.”

 

“Okay, I’ll just come with --”

 

“No!” Jongin protests, then adjusts his volume when he realizes he’s been too loud. “Um, no, hyung. I kind of...it’s kind of something private.”

 

Kyungsoo frowns but he lets it go, and Jongin silently thanks the heavens he doesn’t pry. “Fine. I guess I’ll just drop by the grocery or something.”

 

“I’ll take care of this,” Jongin says, and he’s sweeping up most of their purchases.

 

“No, really, I can handle --”

 

“Don’t push it, hyung,” Jongin says. “Just go to the grocery. I won’t be long, anyway, I’ll text you when I’m done.”

 

“Alright.”

 

Jongin watches Kyungsoo’s retreating back before he dashes to the shop and buys the blue scarf. It looks warm and soft and pretty, silk wool gliding through his fingers. He imagines it around Kyungsoo’s neck and fights back the flush that threatens to paint him red from head to toe.

 

And though Jongin is a cheapskate who gives people accumulated coupons on their birthdays and maybe a leg of chicken if he’s feeling generous, he doesn’t mind going against his principles just this once. Kyungsoo’s taken care of him a lot of times this year. It’s only right that Jongin should at least put some effort in this.

 

It’s only right that Jongin shows him he cares, too.

 

 

Kyungsoo opens the door one day to find a dazed Jongin, jacket slipping off his shoulders and skin feeling like an open flame. He manages to murmur “Kyungsoo-hyung,” and then he’s falling, features contorted and mouth open in a gasp that never breaks free, and it’s all Kyungsoo can do to stop him from hitting the floor.

 

It takes Kyungsoo a while to haul Jongin to the couch, hands flying over cushions and settling the dancer’s body over them. He presses a hand against Jongin’s forehead and he tenses. The younger boy is running a fever.

 

He debates bringing Jongin to the infirmary but decides that it’s too far and Kyungsoo has only about 3% muscle in his body built from carrying books. He can’t get Jongin there unless he places him on a trolley and wheels it. So he consults Junmyeon-hyung over the phone about what medicines are generic enough to bring down the fever without too many side-effects, and he soaks a towel in hot water.

 

Jongin is fast asleep when he walks back to the living room with pills, a glass of water and a damp towel. Kyungsoo coaxes him into a sitting position and gets him to drink the medicine, and soon Jongin is once again dead weight in his arms. He’s just placing the towel on the dancer’s forehead when Jongin’s arms wrap around him and he’s being tugged down.

 

Kyungsoo squirms. Jongin’s hold on him just tightens. “Stay still.”

 

He counts from one to ten then makes another attempt to pry himself away. Jongin just burrows his face in between Kyungsoo’s shoulder blades and Kyungsoo gives up.

 

“I should make you some soup,” he whispers.

 

Jongin just hums. Kyungsoo wonders if he’s even conscious enough to hear what he’s saying.

 

He turns around to brush away Jongin’s hair from his eyes. “You shouldn’t push yourself too much.”

 

There is no response.

 

“You should let me go, Jongin.”

 

A puff of air.

 

“You’re going to get me sick, too.”

 

Jongin’s eyebrows crease.

 

“You should have come home the minute you felt bad --”

 

Jongin’s eyes are still closed, but his hand covers Kyungsoo’s mouth. “I did,” he huffs out. “I did come home. Now stop nagging and go to sleep.”

 

Kyungsoo opens his mouth. Words don’t come out. He closes it, taking in the line of Jongin’s jaw and every rise and fall of his chest when he breathes, and he thinks _to hell with this_.

 

The next day, both of them end up being sick, and Kyungsoo croaks a plea to Baekhyun over the phone to help them out. “Idiots,” Baekhyun says when he sees them drowning in their cotton pajamas and thick blankets, and together with Chanyeol, he brings them to the infirmary.

 

“I told you to let me go,” Kyungsoo hisses at Jongin when they’re both laid down on the cots, Baekhyun and Chanyeol talking to the doctor.

 

Jongin just gives him an unapologetic grin. “You could have just gone, but you decided to fall asleep.”

 

“One of these days, I am going to punch your face.”

 

“You won’t,” Jongin says in a knowing tone.

 

Kyungsoo narrows his eyes. “And why not?”

 

Jongin fixes a gaze on him then, one that Kyungsoo can’t find words for. His eyes are deep and dark with some nameless emotion that sends chills down Kyungsoo’s spine.

 

“Because,” Jongin says, “you don’t struggle when I tell you stay still, and you go to sleep when I tell you to. You care for me too much to punch me in the face, hyung.”

 

Kyungsoo splutters. “You were _sick_.”

 

Jongin just chuckles. “Yes, of course that’s the only reason.”

 

And Kyungsoo really, really wants to go over to Jongin’s bed and punch the living daylights out of him, and maybe add a dent to his cranium in addition to his pounding headache. Except that he’s sick as well, and Jongin’s bed feels too far, and Kyungsoo is supposed to rest or else Baekhyun will end him --

 

Except that Kyungsoo knows Jongin’s right.

 

So he huffs and buries his face in the pillow, and tries to sleep.

 

 

On Christmas morning, Jongin wakes Kyungsoo up with a noisemaker and fake snow. Two things happen at once: Kyungsoo flings his bed sheets off and shrieks, and when he realizes what’s going on, he turns to Jongin with an evil glint in his eye.

 

Jongin starts regretting it when Kyungsoo locks him out of their room for more than five hours. He’s forced to wander the rest of the dorm on his own, which is lonely and pathetic because most people have gone home for the holidays. Not even Sehun is around. Jongin ends up in the fire escape where he calls his family. His words echo in the space, and it’s a little bit too cold for his liking, and he’s pretty sure there are spiderwebs threaded through the railings. But a smile is painted on his face when he hears his sisters’ voices and his parents’ warm greetings, his dogs barking in the background. He closes his eyes and imagines them gathering around the dining table, and he can almost smell his mother’s cooking from miles away.

 

“Yeah,” he says when his mom asks if he’s alright. “I’m not totally alone anyway, Kyungsoo-hyung stayed, too.”

 

“Oh,” his mom says. “Why is that?”

 

Jongin shifts the phone to his right ear. “I didn’t want to ask.”

 

“Mm-hmm. Take care, okay? Have fun. Merry Christmas, Jongin.”

 

“Merry Christmas,” Jongin says, and he waits for his mother to end the call.

 

He knows Kyungsoo has his reasons for being here instead of back home, but Jongin had been too afraid to pry. They’re closer now, the two of them, yet there are some things that Jongin knows must be kept untouched. Kyungsoo will tell him when he wants to, when he feels ready enough to let Jongin know.

 

He saunters back to their dorm room and knocks. It takes about ten minutes before Kyungsoo relents and opens the door from the other side, raising his eyebrows at Jongin when he comes in and kicks off his shoes.

 

“I hope you learned your lesson,” Kyungsoo says.

 

Jongin snorts. “Come on, hyung, it was fun.”

 

Kyungsoo just shrugs. “I needed you out of the way, anyway. You gave me the perfect excuse.”

 

“What do you mean?” Jongin asks, confused. Kyungsoo tilts his head. Jongin spins around and all of his questions die down.

 

Kyungsoo’s put up all of the decorations they’d bought, fairy lights twinkling amongst glittery feather boas and wreaths hung up on the doorways. The lone angel figurine he’d talked Jongin into buying has taken up residence on the coffee table. And there, in the center of the living room, is the small Christmas tree alive with multi-colored, snowflake-shaped lights, holly and tinsel and baubles hanging from the branches. A star glimmers golden from the top of the tree. There are felt stockings everywhere, candy canes too, and Jongin thinks it’s all wonderful.

 

“I could have helped,” he says with a pout.

 

Kyungsoo just laughs and reaches up to cram a party hat on his head. “No, you would have knocked down everything.”

 

“I’m a dancer,” Jongin scoffs. “I’m too graceful to knock things down.”

 

The older boy just rolls his eyes at him and shakes his head. “Anyway,” he says, clapping his hands, “Now you can help me out with something.”

 

Jongin perks up. “What is it?”

 

Kyungsoo tugs him to the kitchen. “Help me finish all the food I cooked, obviously.”

 

Of course, Jongin does exactly as he’s requested.

 

While Kyungsoo is putting away the plates and storing the leftovers for dinner, Jongin excuses himself and runs back to his room. He scrambles for his present, tucked beneath layers and layers of his clothes, and he smoothes out any wrinkles marring the wrapping paper. He takes a deep breath and returns to the living room, where Kyungsoo is now placing a plate of cookies on the table.

 

“Hyung,” Jongin all but squeaks, the present hidden behind his back.

 

Kyungsoo straightens up. “Yes?”

 

“I, uh.” Jongin bites his lip. He closes the distance between them and thrusts the gift into Kyungsoo’s hands, squeezing his eyes shut. “IgotyousomethingandIhopeyoulikeitbutI’msorryifyoudon’tIjustreallywanted tothankyouforeverything,” he says in a rush.

 

“Jongin.”

 

Jongin gulps and blinks his eyes open.

 

“Thank you,” Kyungsoo says, a soft smile turning up the corners of his lips. “I don’t understand half of what you said just now, but it means a lot to me that you gave me this. So thank you.”

 

Jongin nods, feeling as if there’s a lump lodged in his throat.

 

“Wait here,” Kyungsoo says, and he walks back to his own room. Jongin collapses to the floor in under a second, clutching his chest in relief. That went well, considering.

 

Something warm and fidgety is deposited in his lap, and Kyungsoo’s squatting in front of him with bright eyes. He seems nervous.

 

“I know you have a lot of dogs,” he starts, “but she was so cute and I knew you’d like her, so I couldn’t resist.”

 

Jongin looks down and finds a tiny ball of brown fur with liquid black eyes, pawing at his shirt. He throws his head back in a stream of delighted laughter, picking up the puppy and rubbing his nose against hers, pressing a kiss on her snout.

 

“She’s an _angel_ , hyung,” he says, catching Kyungsoo’s eye. And Kyungsoo’s happy too, a self-satisfied grin on his face, and Jongin wants to lean forward and kiss those lips and -- and -- _Oh._

 

He pets the puppy’s head in an excuse to look away, trying to ignore his racing heart and get his breathing back to normal.

 

“What will you name her?” Kyungsoo asks, petting the puppy as well. Jongin stares at how their fingers are so close but don’t quite overlap.

 

“I don’t know yet,” Jongin manages to say. “What do you think?”

 

“What about Angel?” Kyungsoo suggests. “You did say she’s an angel.”

 

“Angel it is, then.” Jongin stops petting the dog and faces Kyungsoo. He hopes he’s not blushing too hard. For a moment he’s speechless, just staring into Kyungsoo’s eyes and wishing he can know what the other guy is thinking. He opens his mouth, and his heart’s beating a tad too fast, and Jongin just _wants_ but he’s so, so scared. So scared to take the leap and say, _I like you._

 

Instead he blurts out, “Thank you so much, hyung.”

 

And Kyungsoo’s smile means the world to him, means everything, when he says, “Anytime, Jongin.”

 

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t know when exactly it starts. Maybe it’s been building up ever since their first meeting, like brick after brick stacked upon each other until they get so high that there is no other way but for them to fall over. All he knows is that the feeling is there, thrumming like an incessant melody in his veins, words ghosting on his lips.

 

As he watches Jongin from the doorway, watches as the younger boy tosses his red marker away and flops on his bed and checks his phone, he thinks that his chest feels so heavy. It shouldn’t be this heavy. He shouldn’t be carrying the entirety of Jongin’s weight in his heart.

 

And when he sits down and consoles the younger boy about not being able to go home for the holidays, Kyungsoo makes a decision. He knows it’s a little stupid, a little sad, but he hears himself saying, “You won’t be alone in the dorms.”

 

Jongin looks up at him with so much hope that it makes him feel like he’s made the right choice.

 

Later, when his parents call and ask him how he’s doing, Kyungsoo tells them he can’t make it. He can’t be there with them for the holidays. “My roommate’s staying,” he says, voice soft. “He’s younger than I am and there’s no one else around, and I’m kind of worried.”

 

His mother hums and says, “It’s okay. You know we don’t really celebrate, anyway. Introduce him to us someday, will you?”

 

Kyungsoo nods. “I will.”

 

After the call, he walks up to the roofdeck and watches the stars for a long, long time. There are galaxies strewn amongst the clouds. Universes are sewn into the very fabric of space. There are things that exist without boundaries, without rules; things that thrive beyond any human being’s capacity to understand.

 

Kyungsoo wonders if maybe love straddles that line between what can and cannot be explained. He wonders if it will ever be something he can understand.

 

 

It’s New Year’s Eve six days later, and Jongin and Kyungsoo are settled in front of the TV, Angel on Jongin’s lap. Plates of candies and cupcakes and pies and kimchi spaghetti are arrayed on the table, along with several cans of coke and a lone bottle of wine. The two of them are watching the New Year’s countdown, various performances pixelating on the screen whenever the cameramen switch to filming the fireworks going off.

 

Jongin’s hand brushes against Kyungsoo’s thigh and his pulse skitters in his wrist. It’s impossible to be so close to Kyungsoo like this and not feel overwhelmed, to have the older guy next to him and not want to lay his head on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. And maybe Jongin can, maybe he’s allowed to because Kyungsoo lets him do almost anything, maybe he can just go ahead and lay his head on Kyungsoo’s shoulder and breathe in the scent of his perfume.

 

It’s just that he wants it to mean something.

 

It’s just that he wants Kyungsoo to let him do it, not just because he’s tolerant of Jongin’s antics, but because the older boy feels the same way too.

 

Kyungsoo is singing along to every song like he doesn’t know how much it’s complicating things for Jongin right now. He’s unaffected and bubbly and wide-awake, and he keeps regaling Jongin with stories. And Jongin’s telling him, too, he’s sharing things about this and that -- but why is it so hard to say what he needs to say?

 

Numbers appear on screen and the countdown begins, and Jongin pets Angel in an attempt to calm his nerves.

 

_10, 9, 8…_

 

“We should have a toast!” Kyungsoo declares, leaning over to get the bottle.

 

_7, 6, 5…_

 

“Yeah, we should,” Jongin says, watching as Kyungsoo pours the wine into their glasses.

 

_4, 3, 2…_

 

And Kyungsoo’s handing him his glass and he’s saying something, but it’s drowned out by the blood pounding in Jongin’s ears. The older guy’s eyes are bright, bright, bright -- like stars exploding in the darkness, like light has been spun and woven into his irises. His eyelashes flutter. His lips part as he raises the glass.

 

“Jongin --”

 

_1!_

 

And Jongin’s tugging him closer, leaning forward to claim his lips. He feels Angel squirm and hop off of his lap. His own glass shatters as it falls to the floor; Kyungsoo somehow maintains his grip on his, but his wine sloshes all over Jongin’s shirt. Jongin finds he doesn’t particularly mind when Kyungsoo kisses him back.

 

They break away for air, and Jongin takes care to put Kyungsoo’s glass on the table. He presses their foreheads together. It’s stifling, and it’s a bit too warm, but there are fireworks imprinted on the backs of his eyelids when Jongin so much as blinks. And it’s not the best kiss ever, it’s not as fine-tuned and well-planned, but Jongin thinks it’s perfect.

 

“I like you, hyung.”

 

Kyungsoo’s grinning, pressing kisses along Jongin’s jaw. “I like you too,” he says, his voice laced with suppressed laughter.

 

And it’s not the most profound of confessions – no screaming, no crying, no arguing over hidden meanings and implications. It’s not one that cuts deep and squeezes everything out of a person, until the only thing left is a concentrated version of love cupped in shaking palms. No, it’s not any of that at all, but Jongin finds that he prefers this. It is simple, it is honest; and he and Kyungsoo have never been ones to beat around the bush, anyway.

 

So as Kyungsoo abandons his side of the couch in favor of Jongin’s lap, Jongin embraces him with all that he has. Perhaps, when they are so, so close to each other that electricity leaps between them, he can start explaining to Kyungsoo everything he feels. Perhaps Kyungsoo will see in Jongin’s eyes all the things he cannot say. But Kyungsoo’s kissing him again, every touch crackling with static and tenderness, and he loses his train of thought.

 

Maybe Jongin’s a lot biased, but he’s pretty sure this year is going to be a good one already. The start is enough of an indication.

 

“Happy New Year, hyung,” Jongin murmurs against the shell of Kyungsoo’s ear, intertwining their hands. He feels the slightest shiver run through Kyungsoo.

 

“Mm-hmm. Happy New Year, too, Jongin.”


End file.
